Page 124 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

“I want to know what’s driven my brother so crazy that he’s lost everything.”

I freeze. Exhale.

And just like that, finally, this all makes sense. I turn to look at him again, his wrong features, familiar eyes.

My brother.“You’re Osip Vaknin.”

He claps his hands sardonically, one single, slow clap that shows the parallel line scars on his hands.

I remember Gavril telling me,“This was his idea, the branding—to symbolize how the Vaknin brothers stand by each other, no matter what. Always.”

I remember the twin lines gouged into his wrist.

“That must’ve hurt,”I said, that night on the roof of the parking garage.

“Like hell,”was his reply. “Neither of us cried out, though—we were too proud. Didn’t want the other to have something up on us. Yes, life was easier then. Or, simpler, if not easier.”

I feel frozen in place as I look at my husband’s brother. He looks back at me, long and hard.

“My brother does have good taste, I’ll give him that.” Laughter twists out of his lips. “But this … for an entire empire?” More laughter.

“Was any of it real?” I ask quietly. “Did Gavril actually …”

“Kill kids?” Dryden—Osip, rather—shakes his head. “Nah. Got those off the internet. Wasn’t hard to get one of my boys to Photoshop a V in red on the wall there. Then, as far as the other stuff, I should give credit where credit’s due: that was all me.”

“You.”

His flickers his brows.

“You’re … the leader of the Skull Kings.”

“Ding-ding-ding. And we have a winner! Smart cookie, aren’t you?”

That’s it, then. I betrayed Gavril for nothing. Maybe he’s still a bad, complicated man—but not a monster. Either way, I can’t stay here.

“So …” I begin.

I have no grand plan. No smart scheme. Only the move I’ve seen work in movies: I kick Osip in the balls.

“Bitch!” he bellows in agony.

I rush out the door. He staggers after me.

Mental note: next time, kick balls harder.For now, though, I have to concentrate. The way I came is blocked by a grinning bald man lumbering towards me with hands out. The other way it is. A few corners and the smell hits me, rancid and stinking like …

Behind me, I hear shouts, footsteps.

Run, run, run, run. As fast as you can, don’t stop, don’t even think of stopping.

Already, I’m winded.

Mental note: go back in time and start exercising regularly.

This isn’t at all funny. Maybe I’m just delirious with danger, with thoughts of what’s going to happen if they catch me.

Something scurries the opposite direction. I squint through the gloom: half the lights in this building are out, the other half are on their last legs, flickering like they could go out at any moment. It’s like I’m sprinting through a haunted house.

“Yoohoo, Joy! Where you goin’, darling?” Osip yells from far behind me. His voice echoes down the empty halls.

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